Rowe's Rule
by Mother of Memory
Summary: Rowe's Rule: the odds are five to six that the light at the end of the tunnel is the headlight of an oncoming train. AU The first taste of freedom is always the sweetest.
1. A Minor Divergence

**Rowe's Rule**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

By Mother of Memory

* * *

Prologue: A Minor Divergence

* * *

November came like a sweet breath of fresh air that year.

Albus Dumbledore stood on the tiny balcony outside his modest suite in Hogwarts and breathed it in. The morning breeze was ripe with dew off the moor and for a moment he let his mind go pleasantly blank.

The rustle of owl wings startled him out of it soon enough. He sighed as the first of many owls landed on the railing with a fat stack of letters.

He took the letters and sent the owl on its way with a nice tip before he retreated into his office, shut the doors behind him, and drew the curtains. It wouldn't stop the persistent owls from the Ministry, but it would at least cut some of the volume.

One of the baskets flanking his desk emitted a gurgle and Albus leaned over the edge to peer inside. A chubby arm pushed aside the blankets covering it to reveal a tiny thatch of black hair. Albus permitted himself a smile and knelt to rearrange the blankets around James and Lily's now orphaned son… one of many casualties of the war. One of many loose ends that needed to be tied up.

In response to his companion's activity, the second basket emitted a half-hearted wail. Albus sighed and noted –not for the first time- that he was getting far too old for this sort of thing.

Young Neville Longbottom sniffled as Albus came into view and squirmed with discomfort. Albus brushed the boy's downy brown hair aside and examined the scar there. The lightening-bolt scar was red and angry, only just beginning to scab over. Albus clucked his tongue softly and cast the mildest palliative charm he knew to soothe the infant's pain.

"Poor child, to be victim of an old man's folly…" Albus murmured. He'd been sure, so sure that Voldemort would target the Potters. Frank and Alice had been powerful Aurors, too dangerous a target for Voldemort to risk in person… and both pureblood. Albus had been sure that Tom would have seen the half-blood child as the greater threat.

Now both children had been robbed of their parents and one of them had been saddled with the burden of fame before he'd even left the cradle.

Young Harry's case was blissfully uncomplicated. Even in the wake of the tragedy of his godfather's imprisonment, the boy still had family in the muggle world. His Aunt and Uncle on Lily's side would take him. Albus would have to arrange to have the boy smuggled out of the school, lest someone from the Ministry intercept him and mistake him for Neville.

Neville would have to be kept away from the wizard population for a while. His grandmother had been an Order member in her time and Albus was sure that she'd take the boy in. No one would question her reclusive ways, especially not after the loss of her firstborn son.

With the children settled, Albus turned back to the stack of mail on his desk. The top letter was a foreboding shade of red and the address indicated that it was from the Minister of Magic.

Albus sighed once more, cast a silencing spell around the boys to protect their sleep, and began to open his mail.

* * *

Seiyuu: Dratted rampant plotbunnies. There I was working on Conditions and this story just kind of leaps up and waylays me. Still, It's fun! Let me know what you think! 


	2. Society and Solitude

**Rowe's Rule**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

By Mother of Memory

* * *

Chapter One: _Society and Solitude_

* * *

There are certain events which to each man's life are as comets to the earth, seemingly strange and erratic portents; distinct from the ordinary lights which guide our course and mark our seasons, yet true to their own laws, potent in their own influences.  
- Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton,  
_What Will He Do With It?_ (bk. II, ch. XIV)

* * *

When Harry turned sixteen, the Dursleys threw him out.

It wasn't entirely unexpected nor was it abrupt. They jumped through all the legal hoops and untangled the red tape to declare Harry an emancipated youth. It would have caused them more trouble in the long run if they had simply dumped him at King's Cross with a suitcase and enough money for a ticket.

After all, someone might have returned him and no-one wanted that.

Vernon drove Harry to London and dropped him off in front of the station. There were no good-byes. For his part, Harry didn't even watch his Uncle drive away. It hurt, yes… but as Harry stood on the curb and looked up at the tower clock built into the front of the imposing brick building he found that it was a clean sort of hurt.

"It's finally over." He sighed and rubbed his ribcage under his shirt. Earlier in the season, Dudley had seemed to realize that he was about to lose his favorite punching bag and decided to make use of the time he had. The final count was about two broken ribs and innumerable bruises. The ribs had mended with some assist from the school nurse, but his side was still tender.

In an hour or two he'd let himself get scared about the future, what he'd do, where he would go. In a little while he'd let himself wonder who would hire a teenage boy at a living wage. For the moment, Harry decided that the most he would think about was getting a mug of tea and something to eat. He would find a quiet spot and just… _rest_ for a moment.

There was a sandwich vendor on a street corner in-between the St. Pancras Station and the King's Cross station who sold Harry a roast beef sandwich with a heavy helping of chips. He had tea in his bag and a thermos. The vendor was kind enough to share some hot water with him so he could brew his own.

Harry took his lunch inside King's Cross to escape the late summer sun. Inside the station it was cool and comfortable. Harry found himself relaxing in the anonymous tide of people as he wandered the station, looking for a quiet place to have his lunch. The sound of people going back and forth, their voices as they talked or shouted, it all blended into a soothing sort of white noise.

For years, he'd hated the silence. He couldn't stand it, not knowing when his Aunt or Uncle might shout for him or burst out around the corner to drag him off to some chore or punishment.

He found a good spot in-between the 9th and 10th platforms. There was a disused bench there and Harry sat there. Most of the other seats were occupied by tired travelers as they grabbed a nap during a lay-over or folks who were waiting to pick someone up. In retrospect, Harry would realize that his first clue should have been that the bench was empty in a deserted area, despite being located in-between two busy platforms.

Harry un-wrapped his sandwich and pulled the tea bag out of his thermos. As he ate his lunch, he engaged in a little people-watching. It occurred to him that there were a lot of students in the crowd, but he wrote it off after a moment. They were probably all going to the same boarding school. It was common for the more exclusive schools to just book a train to make sure everyone arrived on time.

In theory he should have been getting ready for classes himself, but he'd gone to public school and had incentive to graduate early.

The school kids just looked so young… well, they _were_ young, Harry amended. They were probably a good few years younger than he was. Still, as he watched those fresh little faces being herded along by parents who all wore the same expression of mixed pride and sadness… well… there was no use in being maudlin.

"Excuse me, Lad. Do you mind if I sit here a bit?"

Harry blinked and looked up as an older man sat down next to him with a sigh of relief. For a second he thought he was seeing things (again), but a second look confirmed that the man was in fact there next to him… lurid purple silk bathrobe, floppy hat, toad and all. He gulped and shook his head.

"Excellent!" The man sighed and leaned back. "I'll never get used to this muggle business of trains and all, no offense meant of course, but it's a dashed lot of noise and crush in here. You on your way to school, lad?"

"Ah, no. I graduated last year." Harry replied in as polite a manner as he could muster and hoped he wasn't having a hallucination again. He saw thing sometimes, things that no one else saw. After the first few incidents when he'd tried to tell his Aunt and Uncle, Harry had learned to just keep it quiet and be polite to the phantasms when he saw them.

"Precocious!" The man laughed. "I just dropped my nephew off at the Express. He's taking his final year this year… lost his toad again though. Figured I'd stay near until he thinks to 'accio' the thing back. Don't let me interrupt your lunch though."

"That's all right, sir." Harry was pretty certain by that point that he was seeing things again. It didn't bother him really. No one was watching and he was probably lonely if his subconscious mind was manufacturing chatty old men for him to talk to. "I don't have to be anywhere soon."

"Ah, on your way to a job then?" The old man guessed and then frowned when Harry shook his head. "Visiting someone then? On you your way home to see your parents?" With each guess the old man looked more and more frustrated. "Well, dash it, man. Satisfy an old man's puerile curiosity and tell me then!"

"Well, I don't know." Harry replied. There really wasn't any point in lying to a figment of his imagination. "My Aunt and Uncle left me at the station with money for a ticket somewhere. Haven't rightly decided where I want to go then."

The old man frowned. "… you on a holiday or some such, lad?"

"Ah… no. I graduated last year. My Aunt and Uncle didn't see much reason to keep me around after that." Harry shrugged. "Well, that's not important. I expect I'll find something one way or another. Is your nephew in University then or still in secondary school?"

"Secondary school, I expect you'd say… 'ere now, lad. How old are you?"

"I'm not a runaway." Harry sighed, getting an idea where this conversation was headed. "I'm looking for work." He temporized. "There isn't much to be had in Surrey so I came to London." There, it wasn't the precise truth, but it eased that wrinkle of suspicion in-between the old man's eyes. There was still no point in lying, but there was even less point in pouring out his life story in the middle of a busy railway station to someone who may or may not exist.

"Well, that's different. Not much out by way of Surrey." The man agreed. "Nope, London's were you want to be. Got any ideas where you want to go? Diagon Alley? Marjen Space? Thatta Way? Lots of good districts around here."

"Aaah… well, I don't know." Harry shrugged one shoulder. He didn't bother to ask why the old man was telling him to walk 'diagonally' or go 'that way'. His hallucinations had given him stranger advice in the past. "Wherever they need someone who can scrub floors and cook meals, I suppose. I don't imagine they'd hire a sixteen year old for much else."

"Hrmmm… I'd try some of the commercial districts then, like Diagon Alley." The man paused and blinked as the toad suddenly jerked out of his hands and then flew through the wall behind them. "Well, that's that." He chortled. "'Ere now, my name is Algernon Longbottom. What's yours?"

"Harry… Harry Underhill." Harry had no idea what possessed him to lie, but sometimes his gut told him to do things and he did them without thinking about it… he never regretted it. Of course, if the old man was a Tolkien fan then he was up the creek without a paddle…

"A good name." Algernon agreed. "Well, I must be off now that my nephew has his toad. I like you, boy. I'll owl you sometime."

"I'll look forward to it, sir. Have a safe trip." Harry agreed, not even bothering to wonder what the man had meant by that.

* * *

_Your ticket to the future is always blank._  
- Vash the Stampede 'Trigun'

* * *

In the end, Harry decided to stay in London.

He found a place to stay for the night in a Youth Hostel. It was filled mostly by American students who were passing through either on business, study trips, or holiday. Still, it was cheap and he got breakfast the next morning.

The Hostel he'd picked happened to be run by a local Church and after a brief conversation, one of the sisters gave him a list of possibilities where he might find work. Most of the options were pubs and the like, which offered room and board as part of the wage.

Near as he could tell, that was probably his best option to start off. There weren't many places that would hire someone of his age, much less rent them a room.

He also parted with a few pence and bought a local paper. The employment ads showed some promise and he tucked it in his bag for later perusal.

The Sister's list wasn't very helpful, as it turned out. Harry was under no illusions that he had anything even resembling a formidable physique and most of the pubs who were hiring wanted someone who could do a bouncer's work when necessary. Harry spent his morning visiting various businesses to fill out applications. The forecast was not pretty. He had no character witnesses (unless you wanted to count his Aunt and Uncle), no permanent address, and no phone number.

Around noon, he stopped on Charing Cross Road about halfway between Trafalgar Square and St. Giles' Circus for a break. He picked a pub at random and went in for a drink a bit of a rest. He'd managed to scrape together a decent amount of funds doing odd jobs around Little Whinging when his Aunt and Uncle couldn't see, so he wasn't destitute. However, he had to be careful with the money. It wouldn't last very long.

Too tired to really pay attention to anything, Harry dragged himself to the bar and dropped himself down onto a stool. The barkeep was occupied with another customer so Harry just took a moment to read the menu and rest his feet.

The pub fare was pretty standard: fry-ups, ploughman's lunch, and the ubiquitous stew that had been simmering on the stove since time immemorial and contained whatever leftovers that the cook cared to throw in to keep it hearty.

Right about that time, the barkeep noticed him and came over "What can I get for you, lad?" His voice was not unkind, although somewhat distracted.

"Ploughman's lunch, please, and a mug of tea." Harry scooped the correct change out of his pocket and paid the man. To his surprise, the barkeep blinked at the quid in his hand and eyed Harry.

"Ah…" The barkeep seemed to be at a loss for a moment before a professional smile snapped into place on his face, despite the hush that had fallen over the immediate area. "Well, thank you. I'll have it out in a mo. Let me get you that tea…"

Harry looked about to find several of the bar's patrons staring at him with expressions that ranged from shock to amusement. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the barkeep engaged in a deep conversation with a mammoth of a man who kept looking at Harry and then back at the barkeep.

'Oh, bloody hell. I don't know what this means, but its trouble… and I was hungry too' Harry thought as he reached for his bag. He'd have to think of a way to recoup the cost of his lunch later, but for the moment discretion seemed to be the better part of valor… or at least is would have been if he hadn't found the exit blocked.

The man who had blocked the door wore wearing a robe not unlike the one Algernon had been when Harry had met him in King's Cross, only in a sedate shade of green instead of that eye-searing violet. He held up his hands in a gesture that most people used on small animals. "Now, lad. No one is going to hurt you."

"Please, move and let me past." Harry throat felt tight and his eyes were burning. He hated the feeling that came with an adrenaline rush. It felt like hot liquid was rushing through his veins and swirling in his head.

"Now, lad…" The man's brown eyes met Harry's green and held.

"_Let me past_." Harry hissed.

The man shook his head and broke their gaze, but he didn't move. He wavered on his feet for a moment before he pulled a slender stick out of his sleeve. "Sorry, lad. That won't work on me." He looked more sad than angry. "I promise you that no one is going to harm you. We only want to help."

A massive hand fell on Harry's shoulder and closed around it. Harry made an undignified squeak as he found himself lifted into the air and set back down on his abandoned barstool.

"Na' ye he'ave yerself, lad." The giant rumbled. "B'aint nothin' to be afraid of. Look na', Tom 'as yer lunch."

Harry blinked as the barkeep, who Harry assumed was 'Tom' pointed as the spot in front of Harry with a stick similar to the one man in the doorway had and said something incomprehensible in rather crude Latin.

Only the giant's hand still on his shoulder kept Harry from falling out of his chair when a plate of bread and cheese appeared in front of him, complete with a rosy-cheeked apple and a large ceramic mug of tea.

"Bugger!" Harry winced as he caught himself swearing. "I mean… how did you… that… is that even edible?"

"It is at that." The man who had been blocking Harry's escape came to sit by him. "Old Tom made the bread fresh this morning and bought the cheese just yesterday. He just summoned it out of the kitchen for you." He stuck out his hand for a shake. "The name is Charlie, Charlie Weasley. Sorry about the to-do in the doorway."

"Ah… that's all right…" Harry took the hand and submitted to an energetic shake. "Where…"

"Where are you? Well Sirrah, you're in the Leaky Cauldron right off of Charing Cross Road in London. If you need further elucidation then you are also in the United Kingdoms." Charlie winked and gestured to Tom with the empty beer glass that he'd abandoned to catch Harry. "Another pint, if you please, Tom."

"I think you've had enough, unless you want to visit your mum with liquor on your breath." Tom laughed as Charlie shuddered. "Tea then."

"Black! Strong as you can brew it!" Charlie ordered and then turned back to Harry. "Now, lad, you're not seeing things or going crazy. I know what you're thinking. I can see it in your little green eyes. This is real, it actually happened and you're not a nutter."

Harry dropped his gaze and took up the wedge of sharp yellow cheese on his lunch plate. It tasted… good, like cheese always had. He chewed and then swallowed. The taste, the texture, the slightly sticky feeling in his throat as he swallowed… it was all as he would have expected. Would any dream or hallucination be that detailed?

"You in there, lad?" Charlie leaned over and bent over so that he could look up at Harry's face. "Tom, I think he's gone into shock. Think an 'ennervate' would do him any good?"

"Now go easy on the lad, he's had a surprise." Tom replied in his sedate manner. "I thought he was a muggleborn and I was right."

"You usually are." Charlie replied as he caught the mug that Tom summoned for him. "Now, lad, what are you doing wandering London alone with a suitcase?"

Harry was rapidly beginning to recognize the 'are you a runaway?' face on sight. To be honest, it was getting bloody annoying. "I'm looking for work." He bit off a chunk of bread, chewed, and swallowed. Loathe as he was to have to tell his story over and over, giving some details now would save him trouble later on. "I graduated last year and my Aunt and Uncle decided it was time for me to be on my own. Not much to tell, really."

"… _old enough_... bloody muggles. Dad loves the lot of them, but sometimes I can't see the attraction." Charlie sighed and slumped on the bar. "All right, let's start at the beginning… Tom, help me here. I've never done this before!"

"That'd be because you spend most of your time haring around Romania with your dragons." Tom shot back. He came over and leaned on the bar in front of Harry. "What's your name, lad?"

"… Daniel Underhill." Harry lied without even thinking why. He still had that feeling from King's Cross, although in retrospect he realized that feeling might have had more to do with fear than any premonition. Still, he didn't trust the people in the Leaky Cauldron just yet and he didn't want to give them anymore means of tracking him down if he chose to run.

"All right, Daniel. Have you ever made something happen… just because you wanted it too? Do you see things that no one else sees?"

Harry's expression must have betrayed him, because Tom smiled. "You see things, then? I thought so. The things you've see are real, Daniel. They aren't figments of your imagination and you aren't hallucinating or whatever people tell you that you've been doing. Your magic lets you see things that are hidden from normal people. I bet… I just bet, that things used to happen around you… I bet people did what you wanted them to, especially when you looked them in the eyes."

Part of Harry scoffed at the idea. If he could make people do thing, then why hadn't he made his Aunt and Uncle treat him decently… although, that tiny voice of logic in the back of his head did point out that he'd learned early on not to look his relatives in the eye. The rest of him was occupied with a faded childhood memory of talking to the snakes in the garden… back when he'd truly believed that they could talk back.

"Word of advice, if you're doing that on purpose I'd stop." Charlie opined. "It won't work very well on another wizard and mind control is illegal in our part of the world."

"Hush, you." Tom turned back to Harry. "Now, we Wizards don't usually mix with the muggle world… normal world, that is. We're something of a minority and well, if you've grown up in the muggle world then you've got a pretty good idea of what kind of reaction the non-magical people have when something new and strange comes along."

"So, what…? You're telling me I'm some sort of Wizard and just never knew it?" Harry clenched his fists in his lap. "That I have some sort of power? That's the way _cults_ work. They prey on a person's need to fit in or have power over something and then exploit it. Why the hell should I believe you?"

To his surprise, Charlie laugh and Tom only smiled.

"Well, it's a change from delusions of grandeur. Normally the older Muggle-borns start spouting off about how they'd know it all along." Tom mused. "Yes, you're right. Cults do work that way and in the end you're the one who will have to decide what world you want to live in. Still, you should know there are options."

"Go on and finish your lunch, Danny-boy, and think about things." Charlie advised. "It's a lot to take in all at once. This time, if you want to leave we won't stop you. If you want to stay, then we'll be willing to help you get your feet wet. Think on it."

And Harry did think on it all through lunch. He thought about it as he left the Leaky Cauldron without saying good bye. True to Charlie's word, no one stopped him. Harry thought about it while he took the underground back to his hostel and laid awake well into the night still thinking about it.

Tom didn't seem very surprised when Harry arrived back at the pub early the next morning and asked if he knew anyone who was hiring.

* * *

Thou must (in commanding and winning, or serving and losing, suffering or triumphing) be either anvil or hammer.  
Ger., Du musst (herrschen und gewinnen,  
Oder dienen und verlieren,  
Leiden oder triumphiren),  
Amboss oder Hammer sein.  
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, _Grosscophta_ (II)

* * *

"… not that I don't mind, lad, but we've got to get you enrolled in school."

Harry sighed as Tom went through his meager suitcase applying charms to every piece to shrink it, enlarge it, mend it, clean it, or protect it from damage. Harry was grateful for the help, although it was worth mentioning that he had not in fact requested it.

"Failing that, we've got to get you some decent clothes. Did you ever actually fit into these?" Tom held up a pair of pants that Harry had gotten hand-me-down from Dudley. He eyed the cracked leather belt that Harry used to cinch them around his narrow waist. "I don't know if I can shrink these down to proper size and make them still fit. You may need to take them to an actual stitch-witch."

Later, Harry would think to ask what in the blue blazes a 'stitch-witch' was, but for the moment Harry settled for a noncommittal noise.

"All right, lad. Most of these bits here aren't fit for rags. No wonder you haven't been able to find work…" Tom wrinkled his nose at the contents of Harry's suitcase. "… but I've done what I can so you don't look like a ragamuffin. Charlie should be oozing by in an hour or so trying to avoid his mother. I'll have him take you through to Diagon Alley and introduce you around."

"Thank you." Harry did his best to sound grateful, but to tell the truth he still hadn't quite adjusted to the idea of magic… or the idea that random strangers could be kind.

"No need to thank me, lad." Tom assured him. "You can work it off. As it happens, today's the day when I'm on my own. Usually I have someone in the kitchens putting together the plates and minding the stew, but today's her day off. You'll be doing me no small favor if you stick with me during the breakfast rush. Charlie won't be by until I open the taps."

Now there was something Harry could understand. "Where do I start?"

Tom blinked and then laughed. "You're an odd duck, Danny. Are you sure you're sixteen? If any of my boys had been like you then I might still have my hair." He winked and ran a hand over his shiny cranium.

If there was one thing Harry knew then it was work. He let Tom lead him into the kitchens and give him a brief tour.

A lot of the actual _work_ involved in the kitchens was done by magic. There was an industrious scrub brush and rag that sprang to life and scrubbed the daylights out of any hapless dish placed into the sink and an embedded homing charm in the plates sent them drifting into the drying rack until they were ready to float into the cabinets.

Dust, dirt, and debris on the floor sort of migrated into a dust pan off in the corner that periodically emptied itself into the trash. A like-minded dust rag occasionally sprang to like to catch a spot or a splatter on the clean walls around the giant cauldron sitting over a hearth that somehow did _not_ turn the small kitchen into a sweltering hell-hole.

"There's a lot you can do with magic." Tom explained to Harry as he showed off the well-stocked pantry. "You can give simple, direct orders to inanimate objects and they'll do whatever you tell them as long as its straight-forward. However, if you want any sort of autonomy, then that's where the problem starts. It can be done, but the spell needs to be constantly redefined and adjusted. You have to keep a constant vigilance on it. In the end you end up putting more effort into the spell than it would have taken to just do it yourself in the first place. You see where I'm coming from with this?"

"I think so, oddly enough. Do it's just easier to hire someone to keep up the place?" Harry guessed.

"Got it in one. Now, what I need you to do is keep an eye on the sink and the dust pan. If they start acting funny then come and get me. Other than that, stir the pot every now and then and put together a plate when I send you an order." Tom indicated a small chalkboard on the wall next to the door, which let out into the pub proper. "The orders will show up there and you just put them together. Can you do a fry-up?"

"I can cook most things if I have a recipe, except the fancy things." Harry shrugged and did his best to ignore the inquiring look on Tom's face. "Just write out what you want in the orders and I'll put it together."

"All right then, lad. We'll be doing fry-ups for breakfast until eleven or so then after that we're serving ploughman's lunch, shepherd's pie, and pasties. Let's get you kitted up with an apron. Don't worry about coming up front to ask questions."

Much to Tom's consternation, even the smallest of the aprons in storage was too big for Harry and he was forced to shrink one of them. There was a loose black cap running around one of the boxes in the linen closet dating back to one of Tom's previous helpers. Harry wore that to keep his disastrous black hair out of the food.

Once Harry was outfitted to Tom's satisfaction, the barkeep turned him loose in the kitchen. Tome left him with some parting instructions. "Now, if you get hungry you can have some of the bread and cheese… or anything that's too burned for the custom, free of charge. I was your age once too, so there's no point in going hungry."

Harry restrained himself to a polite nod.

Tom watched him for a moment and then sighed. "Well, you'll do fine. Come and get me if you have trouble." … and he left.

'Well…' Harry took a breath and surveyed his new –if transitory- kingdom. 'Better get to work…'

* * *

_A/N:_ Here is Chapter One! 


End file.
